Zedilon: The Beginning Of The Super Hero

Book one of the epic saga is here... Paul Lanche considered himself as an average teenager, went to a normal school, had a normal family and had a normal life. But all is changed within one day as Paul soon discovers that the people he believed to be his parents are impostors. In a fit of rage and anger Paul breaks free from his disguised captors and runs away. Little did he know that he was already part of a secret organisation of super modified humans


An Offer He Can’t Refuse

Plittside City, no better example of scum and villainy can be unearthed in one place, yet there is also an embodiment of style and elegance; but this is all dependent on where you look, whether it be at the fashion central where brilliant minds craft works of art onto the human body, or in the filthiest reach of the criminal underworld that thrives on the pain and hardship of the common everyday person. Billionaires spend their lives here, whilst the weak and poor have no other option but to die in “The City of The Future”.

And as cigar smoke fled from the filthy mouth of a bristly man, night gradually fell on the gigantic urban land, all street lights gently crept on with a faint POP! With the half moon meandering across a star lit sky; they slowly began to appear over the dauntingly tall skyscrapers. 

The unshaven man, who had been waiting for eight and a half minutes, started to grow impatient as he saw Plittside City still alive, the faint thumping of life from the clubs could still be heard as young people wasted their money on alcohol, drugs and classiest of women.

He dropped the stub of his Cuban cigar out of the beautiful flame red Porsche’s window as it fell onto a badly paved road below; his arm still lingered outside for a few seconds after; releasing a final puff of smoke free into the world.

He was a rich man, who dealt in odd (often illegal) deals and took pride in every part of his life, but this was a request he had been waiting for since the early days of his criminal career, it was the job he had been dreaming of. Even though he only knew the very minor details of this expensive transaction, it was certain that the sum received would mean retirement from a bleak life and possibly a return to his previous one.

Whilst unaccompanied, switching on the radio was an excellent idea to pass time as a familiar song from the sixties came out from conveniently positioned speakers inside the headrest, drumming in time on the black leather steering wheel with his enormously large hands; he wore a magnificent band of gold on his ring finger which had never been removed since the minute he was married, under any circumstance.

The electric clock with yellow LED’s flicked: 12:11A.M. Thoughts polluted his mind whilst waiting, had they framed him and effectively threw his head in front of the crosshairs? He wiped an uneasy sweat away. If this was true the rugged man would finally have to deal his own form of justice to the monster he had wanted to get revenge on for fifteen years, because this was an operation that he was surprised had been possible and needed a payment.

The police could already be hunting for him.

The dogs could be scouring for a scent.

Even if warrants were out for an arrest that would not stop him, he had already evaded them countless times before (many of which for worse crimes than stealing military property).

With a bit of fear in the pit of his stomach and adrenaline flowing to an unhealthy level through every vein, he locked the car with no real reason to be scared but simply sensed something was wrong.

Sweat slowly trickled off his forehead again.

The man peered through the back window of the Porsche and only saw a solid rock wall which looked suspiciously unnatural.

It had been too long; it must have been a set-up.

No one was ever ten minutes late for a business deal.

Quickly, he put the key in the ignition and turned it.

The car roared like a powerful lion, a rather comforting sound to the bristly man as he was so unfamiliar with this particular vehicle.            

He pushed the handbrake down before the car started to roll.

Even though he was about to lose the biggest sum of money earned from a deal, he was surprised at the relief felt by fleeing; Plittside City was an intimidating place that he never managed to adjust to during his brief stay many years ago.

Amidst the darkness of this hidden crevasse, two small beams of light darted around the corner, momentarily blinding the man.

He instantly slammed his foot down and put the handbrake back on.

It was them; it had to be since no one knew about this secret location. From above it was clear that it was the only volcano nearby, luckily it was long extinct, a fact that attracted many tourists, leading to this unconventional midnight meeting.

The van put his brake on, the tyres stopping in their tracks meters apart from the Porsche.

A smile stretched across the bearded man although his hands tightened around the steering wheel with a look of hatred filling both eyes.

They both hesitated for a moment.

“You’re finally here Mr. Mendon.” The bearded man started in his deep, scratchy tone before opening the door and stepping out.

The man with a stubble of a beard walked into the glow from the dim headlights; he wore a torn pair of black jeans which looked just a little too big, accompanied by a grey T-shirt and torn leather jacket which appeared inconsistent with the solid gold watch strapped tightly; dirt was spread unevenly across blue eyes, a big nose and thin lips, with light bounced off the few blond hairs that were steadily receding on his head.

“Yes. Sorry, we had-” Mr. Mendon stopped abruptly to create a reasonable excuse, something was not right; his eyes were an obvious sign. “-We had, a little disturbance, long story short.” He muttered the final sentence as a creepy smile stretched over his face, he too walked into the path of the headlight. He had short, light blonde hair, green eyes and looked as though there was no top lip. Mendon looked to be aged in his early thirties, but the clothes worn seemed better suited for a trendy twenty year old; the tight blue jeans and leather jacket exuded a sense of style. “Well Professor, what’ve you got for me?” Mr. Mendon asked with keen interest as the creepy smile vanished.

It was time to get to business.

“Y’know what I’ve got; I just don’t know why we’re here. It was all set until you changed it to here, lucky traffic wasn’t that bad.” The Professor questioned as he looked at the surroundings cautiously, whilst thinking about the gun that lay so close in the passenger seat, his fingers stretching, so eager to kill.

“There’re a lot of things that we don’t know right now, like why’re you driving a Porsche when I told you to bring a van? Where’s the item I need? What the hell is this place? How’ve you managed to stay looking so young after fifteen years? And most importantly, how’s it all gonna’ end? Some things are best left unknown, so leave them.” Mr. Mendon finished as he placed his hands on the front bonnet of the Professors car and impatiently tapped it twice.

Mr. Mendon was a man who never trusted anyone and was not going to start with an old bearded Professor. As long as he had the item the two of them could continue and be happy. All Zack Mendon would ever set out for is money and himself; luckily this deal covered both.

The Professor walked around to the boot of his car, never breaking eye contact with Mendon, once it rose a hydraulic hissing noise broke the silence. His client was getting suspicious (like the Professor always had been).

Was it a set up?

Would the Professor pull the gun and leave with the money that may or may not be in Mendon‘s car?

That did not seem likely as he took out a large silver briefcase, closed the boot door and walked back around hurriedly. Yet his intensions could not be predicted, just like Mr. Mendon.

The Professor crouched down with his knees against the damp path and gently placed the briefcase on the ground, with a clunk noise, before opening it. He looked at it himself for a moment, eyes wide, as his face was engulfed by a heavenly white light. A peculiar expression draped across his dirty face, he turned it around for Zack Mendon to see.

“It’s all yours.” The Professor told Mendon as he showed the clear crystal that brightly shone in front of his eyes. It was beautiful. It illuminated the dark night with a angelic glow. Zack cautiously held it and stood in amazement, but what were his intentions?

“So where’s my money?” Asked the Professor; impatiently clicking his fingers. Zack stopped looking at the crystal although still amazed by its undeniable beauty.

“Oh,” he started to reply as he seemed surprised by this request, “the issue of the money.” he replied as the crystal was still gripped in both hands and light shone from both sides.

“You haven’t got it, have you?” The Professor asked with a quizzical look on his old, wrinkled face. Through remembering their fractured history, this form of deception should have been predictable so why has this been allowed to happen, quickly a plan needed to be devised. “You know what, that’s okay, I’m just gonna’ leave now.” He explained as he walked to his car briskly, the gun was waiting close by; it was the answer, the solution to this long drawn out problem.

He had spent weeks trying to obtain this crystal and was expecting a pay check of at least two million. But Zack Mendon always had a gun around somewhere, yet this time the Professor did as well. He opened the door and sat on the leather seat. He pushed down the lock. A full sense of security overcame him.

Revenge was so close.

Zack went back into his ageing van, briefcase in hand before momentarily conversing with a dark assailant that the Professor had been unaware of before now; he pulled something from the glove box and it didn’t look like money.

It was a gun.

Definitely loaded.

Vengeance had to wait.

He acted on impulse, put the key in the ignition, pushed the accelerator with his foot so far against the floor that it touched the car mat underneath.

A surge of adrenaline pumped through his body and veins.

In the moments before the car thundered away he saw Mendon’s look of terror as he dived onto the passenger seat seconds before the Porsche hurtled past.

The Professor shifted the steering wheel so that the car smashed the headlight of Mendon’s van before accelerating around the corner; with a look of disbelief.

Pistol gripped, he sped onwards.

The roads were slick and shiny because of the previous rain shower.

He didn’t have long before they caught up with him.

He started to lead up to public roads, which would be occupied by other drivers, as he ignored the speed limits and the speed cameras that flashed at him as he darted past.

He looked into his rear view mirror a couple of times before he saw the thing he feared seeing the most: Mendon in the rusty painted transit van; letting out a wheezing cry from the engine.

They were gaining on him.

He drove faster with lampposts only looking like an occasional blur.

It gave him a strange sense of speed and he rapidly changed into sixth gear.

It was a mistake; he changed immediately back into first gear and spun around the corner with two wheels almost completely in the air, leaving skid marks on the tarmac as he narrowly escaped a crash into the side of a rundown building.

The shadowed accomplice turned the vehicle at the last second as their van almost toppled over, but they were immediately back on the road in hot pursuit.

Zack stuck the top half of his body out of his window and gripped the machine gun, still clinging onto the side of the van for leverage.

The shadowed man continued to drive along the widening street.

“This could’ve ended different!” The predator shouted over the roar of the two engines and the honking of horns from drivers on the other side of the road.

The trigger commanded a spray of bullets, thundering out of the chamber and hit the rear window making numerous cracks; the Professor dipped his head underneath the seat for the tiniest protection.

The Professor nervously looked back through the cracked windscreen.

It was his ultimate and final mistake.

A pot hole was closer than anticipated and whilst not focusing on the road ahead the car flipped onto its roof caving in instantly on impact, the car skidded before coming to a gradual stop further down the road.

The van halted behind him, the door opened and Zack got out, the shadowed man stayed inside.

Slowly Zack walked to the damaged sports car, gun still firmly in his hand.

The windscreen cracked wider as the Professor crawled out with blood and scratches covering the majority of his face, hands and torso. Blood flooded the road with any exposed skin looking like crimson was its natural colour. He looked to his left and saw his pursuer; he crawled backwards, still facing his enemy, attempting a seemingly impossible escape.

“Why’re you doing this to me?” The Professor howled as his legs were too badly damaged to continue. Zack saw his tongue bleeding just like every other visible body part.

“It’s all part of a bigger plan.”

“Bigger than yourself Zack?”

“Of course.”

“Then take this!” The Professor revealed the pistol that he kept hidden, and finally seizing the moment, pulled the trigger.

The shocked face proved that this was unexpected.


It wasn't possible.

Zack looked at him, disappointed.


He could not die.

Why did this gun have no bullets?

“I have to do this my old friend, you know too much. I’m sorry.” The Professor looked at him mercifully in his very last moments of life. “Take this!” Zack said as he shot the Professor in the chest.


The bullet cut through the sky like a knife through warm butter.

The Professor’s body jumped slightly in the air, the last thing he ever did.

“Let’s hope that keeps him down this time.” Zack muttered in a monotone, whilst seeming to wipe away a single tear.

“Where’re we going next?” The man, who had accompanied Mendon in the van asked in a deep voice as he walked onto the road but still remained in the nights shadows.

“First, we need to find out something. Get me any information you can on a boy.” He explained as he walked back to the van and got a miniature laptop from the glove compartment and handed it over to the shadowed partner.

“Who is it?” The man said as he clicked the pad a couple of times after the starting music concluded.

“Paul Lanche.” The accomplice raised his darkened eyebrows to this unusual request he had been given, the name was familiar.

“Is it time?”

“Yes, he’s our next target.” Zack finished.

The End

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